


wanna taste your heart (don't interfere)

by owlvsdove



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3870322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She isn't a terror or a trick. She is a woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wanna taste your heart (don't interfere)

She’s not sure how she got here.

Well, surely Jemma can remember the physical actions that took place, the cause and effect that ended up with her, sitting here, being kissed and kissing back. But there’s still something unbelievable about it.  

Kara sighs into her mouth, and the sound of it drives Jemma’s hands into Kara’s hair, thick and lush and soft, holding her close so that she can’t let go.

She doesn’t want to let go.

Kara showed up on a Wednesday evening, trailing closely behind Ward, following blindly Coulson, arm around Lance, being eyed warily by Fitz. She listened carefully, she argued passionately. She fought brilliantly. In this space, she is the unknown player. The blank slate. The wildcard.

But she isn’t a terror or a trick. She is just a woman.

Kara’s nose brushes hers deliberately, sweetly.

Part of Jemma was afraid that Kara might ask her to do something about her face. She is gorgeous, objectively, and this was the face she was born with; but it’s a mask, too. It betrays nothing of the scars beneath. And even while Grant talks about her and Fitz and their scientific capabilities, Kara just nods with no specific interest, and Jemma breathes out. She’s made the mistake before of trying to fix something that wasn’t broken. It drove Skye away.

Kara is present in this though. Her interest is now directly in what Jemma has to offer. At the moment, her body. And her intuition. And a considerable amount of skill, she might add.

Kara starts to kiss down her neck, and she moves her head to the side, leaning into her seamlessly.

“K—” Jemma swallows. “Kara.”

“Mmm?”

“If this is going to continue, we should go somewhere more private,” Jemma murmurs shakily, unwilling to push her away.

Kara pulls away, and Jemma watches her long eyelashes as she blinks in confusion. Oh. They’re still in the lab.

“Do you…want this to continue?” Jemma asks. It might be a silly thing to ask, since Kara’s the one removing her hand from the steady path it was moving towards, but it’s important. Kara is growing back into herself, a process Jemma’s only tasted the bitterest hints of. This is treacherous territory.

Kara looks rather bashful. She nods.

“Say it,” Jemma whispers.

Kara leans in even closer. “I want to go back to your room.”

They share a beat for a moment before Jemma leads the way.

Kara circles her small bunk, looking at the sparse belongings Jemma has managed to scrape together to make it feel like a place that belongs to her. It hasn’t entirely worked.

“This is cute,” Kara says softly, pointing at a picture of her, Fitz, and Skye.

“You’re cute,” Jemma says. Kara gets her point, grinning wryly as she makes her way back to Jemma, fitting snugly into her embrace, magnetized. Kara straddles her, knees sinking into the mattress, pushing Jemma backwards with a breathless huff back onto the bed.

Jemma occupies Kara’s lips once more, pushing and pulling, thoroughly enjoying her. Her hands trail, cupping her neck, tracing her shoulders, down her torso to her perfect hips, keeping Kara in place over her. Encouraging, perhaps, as Kara grinds easily down onto her.

“You’re beautiful,” Kara breathes, eyes wide; and Jemma doesn’t think before she speaks.

“So are you.”

Kara freezes.

This is a sticking point.

“Sorry,” she stutters. “I’m sorry.” But Kara is shaking her head, hair swinging back and forth frantically. Jemma sits up puts a hand on her cheek to try and convey her apology. She can feel Kara’s jaw clench as she swallows.

“It’s just, um,” Kara murmurs. She places her hand over Jemma’s fingers and moves them to a place near the edge of her face. “It’s just a little ridge you can feel if-if you press—”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Jemma says. Because it is. Kara’s been through something horrifying and somehow she’s survived. She is forged in iron, no matter how cotton-light and paper-thin she feels. Jemma fights the urge to wrap her arms around her and squeeze her so tight that she feels the world is stable again. That she won’t go flying apart.

Kara’s barely breathing, waiting for some sort of horrified reaction.

Jemma’s seen so much worse. Felt so much worse with her own two hands.

“You’re okay,” Jemma whispers.

Kara looks her in the eyes for a long time – and Jemma refuses to look away, if she looks away she’s failed her – before rolling off of Jemma and kicking her boots off in a fury. Her hands move to the button on her pants but Jemma catches on quickly and brushes them away, wanting to do it herself; so Kara starts in on the teasing trail of buttons on her shirt, moving through them with a deftness she seemed to sell her soul for.

There’s something sweet to letting Kara unhinge her bra. Jemma feels like this might be a new experience for a new woman.

Kara wants to push her back down on the bed, explore like a forest fire gaining ground, and Jemma lets her; but there’s quite an obvious path on which this night will follow, and she’s not sure if Kara is aware of it yet.

Kara needs to feel loved.

Jemma’s going to give that to her.

All of the missteps and devastations in the world can’t stop Jemma from helping someone like this.

Kara presses a kiss right below her belly button, so Jemma pulls her up to her mouth, leveraging herself to roll them over. Kara’s head bounces on the pillow with a huff.

“I was on a roll there,” Kara protests.

“You were,” Jemma confirms, and Kara looks the tiniest bit pleased. So they have that in common. “But I think you deserve a little pleasure.”

Kara raises an eyebrow. “You gotta stop talking like that. The neighbors might think.”

Jemma smirks, bites some flesh by Kara’s hip, begins her descent.

If Kara’s nervous, it doesn’t show; and it’s not long before the only thing that’s present on her face is concentrated hunger. Jemma smacks her lips. She knows the feeling.

If there’s any way to make this go on forever, Jemma’d like to find it, but in the mean time she’s doing her utmost to make sure Kara writhes, sticking to her sheets with sweat and something else as long as possible. She’s cruel that way. Kara doesn’t seem to mind any more than the obvious reaction, like she’s enjoying being put through the ringer.

They’re a good match for each other.

 When Kara finally crumbles, marble and sediment crushing over the devastation of an earthquake, Jemma leans away, stretching the soreness out of her jaw for good measure. Kara squeezes her legs together, trying to grind out the last possible aftershock. Her eyes blink open after a moment, strands of hair matted to her face, caught in her eyelashes. Jemma brushes them away.

They seem to watch each other for a long time: Jemma searches for signs of distress, of anguish, but finds only peace; Kara looks for a set of expectations in her eyes but comes up with understanding.

Jemma leans down and kisses her, and it seals something they’re not quite ready to talk about yet.

“Thank you,” Kara whispers.

“Any time.”

“Your treatment was excellent, Doctor. You deserve compensation,” Kara says, a reasonable volume once more, lazy and grinning.

“I don’t need anything from you, Kara.”

“But is there something you want?” It’s not really a question. Jemma lies back on the bed.

“You shouldn’t talk like that. The neighbors might think.”

Kara grins.


End file.
